


Remaking Dinner

by Missy



Category: Burn Notice
Genre: Community: schmoop_bingo, Cooking, Flirting, Found Families, Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-25
Updated: 2010-12-25
Packaged: 2017-10-14 02:32:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/144380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Missy/pseuds/Missy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam helps Madeline fix a new Thanksgiving dinner after she accidentally wrecks it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Remaking Dinner

**Author's Note:**

> Written for schmoop_bingo: prompt: Thanksgiving: Kitchen Disasters.

A plume of smoke rose up from the stove as Madeline cursed under her breath. Damn it! She’d worked her ass off trying to make this dinner perfect and, well…

She eyed the mess before her. Somehow, the oranges had turned green, the turkey was a smoking, black mark in the pan and the rice…well, it was brownish-black with red spots in it.

Red spots.

How had they ended up with red spots?

She just stared, blankly, at the spread before her. What the hell should she do? What the hell could she do? She picked a cigarette up and started sucking on it, drawing soothing tobacco into her aching lungs. That was when the smoke detector started going off. “Shit!” she hissed, running to pull the rice off the stove before it burned her place down.

Sam, as always, had exquisite timing – he came in right after she finished dumping the remainder of the food in the trash. “Hi,” she said, pausing in her foul curses.

“Hi yourself,” he replied. “Whatt’d you to do that meal?”

“Whatever it was, it deserved it,” she replied, taking a drag from her cigarette. “What do you need?”

“Mike sent me by to check on you, good thing, looks like you need help.” He grabbed a dirty pan and started scraping it.

“I’m no baby,” she replied.

“I know you’re not,” he said. “Grab some rice and we’ll start over again with chicken.”

Reluctantly, Madeline got out a fresh set of filets and started heating the skillet. “Chicken for Thanksgiving?”

“We don’t have any choice here, Maddie.”

She watched him work for a second. “Where did you learn how to do this, Sam?”

He shrugged. “I was stuck in a mess hall in Beirut for weeks. Learned how to make great beef stew.” He started breading the filets in a mixture of corn meal and herbs. “And a mean chicken,” he added, dropping several fat breasts in as they started sizzling in the heat. “So, Mike and Fi said they’d stop by at noon….can you start chopping some vegetables over there? You’ve got carrots, right?”

Madeline nodded and got to work. “They said they were going to bring some dessert, so I didn’t bother stopping by the market – how’s the chicken coming?”

“Just fine,” Sam said, turning down the heat a little. “Get me some potatoes, Mad?”

She started rummaging around in the bins for them, finally surfacing with six. She started peeling while Sam put on a pot of water to boil. “I saw Fi with a bakery box this morning, so that must be it.”

Madeline nodded. “So, Sam, how’s Ms. Reynolds.”

A sound of a utensil hitting the side of the pan, hard, greeted Madeline, making her wince. “Let’s just say she’s not speaking to me until I finish repainting the garage.”

“I told you not to test the smoke bombs there.”

“Yeah, well – sometimes you have to break a few eggs to get ‘em scrambled,” Sam responded, rolling the chicken over. “So waddya want for Christmas, Maddie?”

“A kitchen that doesn’t explode every few minutes,” she replied dryly.

“Ouch,” Sam replied jokingly, taking the chopped vegetables back from her. “That might be asking for too much in this family.”

“It is a family, isn’t it?” Madeline wondered aloud, unable to stop herself from smiling.

“Yeah, it is,” Sam agreed. “And I’m glad we’ve got it,” he added. “Now, how the hell are we gonna keep these chicken breasts warm?”

“Oven,” she said, yanking it open. “So you’re fighting with Ms. Reynolds?”

He arched a brow. “I didn’t say we were fighting,” he corrected her, closing the oven door. “We just have philosophical differences.”

“She sees you as a prince you see yourself as a shmuck?”

Sam shook his head. “Think of the other way around.”

“Oh Sam – you deserve the kind of girl who’s going to treat you like gold,” she sighed.

“I’d settle for silver-plated,” he confessed. “What about you? Heard from Virgil lately?”

“Not hardly,” Madeline confessed. “He checks in now and again.”

“I didn’t want to know about that,” Sam groaned.

“Not THAT sort of checking in,” she protested. “He visits sometimes. We catch up. Get cozy.”

He handed her the tongs. “Here, toss that.” He set the timer for the potatoes. “He does right by you, doesn’t he?”

“Yes,” Madeline declared, finishing tossing the salads. “He’s a good guy, Sam, you know that.”

“Aha,” Sam replied. “Didn’t need to know, Maddie.”

“Yes you did,” she said pertly. “You asked.

“Uh huh.” This was going to be an uncomfortable few minutes. “So, whatt’re you gonna get me for Christmas, then?”

She shook her head. “You’re going to bug me until I tell you, aren’t you?”

“Maybe.”

“Why don’t I get it for you now?”

“Please.”

Tossing up her hands, she headed into the living room. A few moments later, she returned with a small package wrapped in a paper bag. Sam tore into it with childlike glee, pulling out a….gift card?

To a liquor store.

Worth a hundred dollars.

He grinned at her. “I ever tell you that I like you a lot, Mad?”

“Only every day.”

He laughed. “Thanks,” he dug into his pocket. “Here’s yours.”

She opened the elegant velvet box and smiled. It was a tiny charm necklace with three stones on it aquamarine, ruby, and topaz. “What’s this?”

“Those,” he said, “Are mine, Fi and Mike’s birth stones.” He grinned. “Mike says her and me are your extra kids. Thought you might like having proof.”

She reached up to squeeze him. “Have I ever told you I love you, Sam?”

“Not nearly enough. I love you too, Mad.” He turned back toward the oven. “Potatoes are almost done. Ready to go?”

“Uh huh,” she nodded, still examining the necklace. “You’re a wonderful almost-son, Sam.”

“I try,” he grinned. “Glad to help you out, Maddie.”

She started helping him out with the dishes and the food. “You’re always a help. Even when you’re blowing up my house.”

“Yeah, I guess, even then,” he agreed. “Happy Thanksgiving, Madeline. Thanks for nagging me.”

She grinned at him. “Happy Thanksgiving, Sam. Thanks for blowing up my house.”  



End file.
